


well after all, we’ll lie another day

by thefigureinthecorner



Series: swallowing light ‘til we’re fixed from the inside [3]
Category: The AM Archives (Podcast), The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Can be read as romantic or platonic honestly, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-03 20:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19471936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefigureinthecorner/pseuds/thefigureinthecorner
Summary: AM Archives spoilers; canon compliant as of episode 11.Joan lets herself sink back into the couch and tries to close her eyes again. It’s easier, with Owen there. It’s easier knowing she’s not alone.It feels safer.Which is odd in and of itself, she realizes; she hasn’t felt safe around Owen in a very long time. Surviving a serial killer with the capacity to destroy you without even blinking with someone will bring anyone closer together, she supposes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Desert Song by MCR, which I’ve been listening to a lot while I draw stuff related to Recent Events cause the mood fits imo

Mark says that he’s going to stay with Sam.

It’s the first night after Helen’s attack on the AM, and Sam said she didn’t want to be alone, and Mark wouldn’t say it out loud but he has “please-stop-breathing-down-my-neck-Joanie” written all over his face as he announces his departure. So, Joan lets him leave. He’s still got the serum in his system so there isn’t any chance of accidental time travel mishaps, at least not on his end, and, well, he’s right. He’s an adult. He can make his own decisions.

The silence in Joan’s apartment is deafening, though. She can’t stand the idea of being alone either. She sits down hard on her couch for a couple seconds, bounces her leg, paces, goes to every room in her apartment and turns the lights on, even the table lamps, because the dark is absolutely terrifying, turns on some music to push out the silence, sits down again. Tries to lie down and sleep.

When she closes her eyes she sees Helen’s face.

She turns off the music and dials Owen’s number. He picks up almost immediately and doesn’t take the time for a greeting.

“You too?” His voice sounds small on the other end.

“Yes.” She hesitates. “Would it be weird to ask if I could come over?”

“Not at all.”

——

Owen’s apartment is over on the other side of town and the time is creeping steadily towards 1am by the time she gets there. She calls Owen to tell him to buzz her in and makes her way up.

It seems he’s had a similar evening to hers when he opens the door. Every little light in his apartment is on, including some lamps that look like they’ve been collecting dust for a while. All the window curtains are drawn as if to keep in as much light and keep out as much darkness as possible. He didn’t turn any music on, but he does have  _ Alice in Wonderland  _ playing on his TV at an almost-unreasonable volume for the hour. She cracks a small smile at that— she knows it’s secretly a favorite of his.

He’s already in his pajamas and he has bags under his eyes. She’s certain she does too. He gestures her inside and she looks around as she steps in; it’s been a long time since she’s been here, but not much has changed. He got a new couch and his bookshelves seem to be spilling over into the rest of the living room now, but other than that, there’s not much change.

He’s a creature of habit, after all.

Owen motions her over to the couch and she sits down— it’s more comfortable than the one he used to have, she notes to herself. “Do you, um, want food? Or something to drink? I can make tea, if you’d like.”

She considers for a moment before nodding. “Tea sounds good, thank you.” Tea sounds warm and comforting and she needs that right now. “Chamomile, if you have it? With honey. Lots of it.”

Owen nods and slips into the kitchen to heat up the water. The kitchen is a separate room, but it’s got a bar seating area with a window in; she can see him puttering about inside, clearly happy to have a task to put his mind to, however mundane it is. He’s humming along to The Unbirthday Song as it plays on the TV.

Joan lets herself sink back into the couch and tries to close her eyes again. It’s easier, with Owen there. It’s easier knowing she’s not alone.

It feels safer.

Which is odd in and of itself, she realizes; she hasn’t felt safe around Owen in a very long time. Surviving a serial killer with the capacity to destroy you without even blinking with someone will bring anyone closer together, she supposes.

She doesn’t notice Owen’s footsteps and jumps when he taps her on the shoulder holding out her tea.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Chamomile with extra honey?”

She accepts the cup with a “thank you” and holds it for a moment, just inhaling the smell of it and letting the steam fog up her glasses. It’s warm and real in her hands and she hadn’t realized how much she needed something like this until she had it.

Owen sits down next to her and curls his long legs up onto the cushion, tucking his feet next to him. He settles in with his own cup of tea and goes silent as he turns his attention back to the movie.

As the credits roll, Owen gets up and switches the TV off. He starts towards the bedroom before hesitating a moment.

“You’re staying the night, right? Do you need anything to change into?” He’s turned back to look at her, and she nods almost immediately. The idea of sleeping alone in her apartment doesn’t sit well with her, but she hasn’t brought any overnight stuff with her. He nods back and gestures with his head for her to follow him, and she does.

He pulls out an old, worn t-shirt from his closet— not worn enough to be ratty, just enough to be soft and comfortable for sleeping in. It’s a Grand Canyon souvenir shirt, based on the nearly-illegible faded lettering. Owen’s brow furrows as he looks through the closet a bit longer.

“I… don’t think I have any pants that would fit you, sorry.”

Joan shrugs and accepts the shirt. It’s not like he hasn’t seen her legs, and besides, he’s a foot taller than her; she knows the shirt will fall just above her knees, just as they used to before.

Owen ducks out of the room for her to have some privacy as she changes and she smiles at the gesture. She probably wouldn’t have minded if he’d stayed, but the consideration is… kind of sweet, actually. She steps out of the work clothes she still had on, slips the t-shirt over her head, and calls him back.

“You can come back in now, the coast is clear,” she says, and she can’t keep the mirth out of her voice. He shuffles back in, looking like he’s too tired to really pick his feet up the whole way. He leans against the doorframe.

“Would it be— can I ask—“ he stops, pursing his lips like he thinks he’s about to overstep some boundary. She sits down on the edge of the bed.

“If you’re trying to ask if I’ll stay with you here, the answer is yes,” she prompts, giving a tired, lopsided smile. “It’s not weird, after the day we’ve had. If you hadn’t asked I honestly would have eventually.”

Owen’s shoulders slump like he’s relieved. He moves to the bed without turning the lights off; the dark is full of uncertainty and unwelcome reminders and weird silhouettes that look too human-like for either of their comforts right now. He sets his glasses down on the bedside table and crawls into bed, towards the far side that’s up against the wall; it’s always been his side and it apparently still is. Joan places her glasses next to his, flops back onto the pillow, and curls up beside him.

It’s less weird than she’d expected it to be. When she turns to him, he looks at her strangely; his eyes are full of fear and sadness and more tired than she’s ever seen them before. He reaches an arm out and she doesn’t think twice before tucking herself underneath it, burrowing her face into his shoulder.

He needs the comfort. He’s been through far more today than anyone should have to go through. And, fuck it, Joan needs this too. The warmth and the touch ground her and her muscles relax for the first time since morning. She’s been tense and afraid all day and it all melts out of her when Owen pulls her to his side.

Owen clearly feels the same, because he’s out like a light. Joan’s eyelids droop; she isn’t far behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t expecting to write a second chapter but I had an idea for one and I Wanted Them To Talk About Things cause watching someone die is definitely traumatic
> 
> No proofreading we die like dumbasses

Joan wakes up to Owen shooting straight up in bed.

It takes her a moment to orient herself; she’s gotten used to sleeping alone and having someone move next to her is startling to say the very least. But then she remembers what’s happened, what led to her being in Owen’s apartment, the need to get rid of the oppressive loneliness of her own home.

Owen is shaking and breathing harshly, odd strangled noises ripping their way out of his throat. They sound wrong, coming from him. He’s not supposed to sound so distressed. He’s not supposed to sound like he’s in pain; he’s Owen. He’s supposed to be the put-together one, not falling apart. But here he is, staring at his fingers and flexing them like he wasn’t expecting to be able to move them, drenched in sweat and with tears rolling down his face. Joan mentally notes that it was good that they’d both had the foresight to keep the lights on; the dark would probably have added another layer to this whole mess.

She doesn’t have to ask what the nightmare was about. She can make an educated guess. Asking will probably make him panic more; she isn’t going to do that to him.

“Owen?” He flinches slightly at the sound. She knows she’s going into therapist mode, but Owen looks like he needs it. “Owen, you’re safe. You’re home. Nothing’s going to hurt you. Can you look at me?” She takes his glasses from the bedside table and holds them out to him so he can see clearer.

He keeps staring at his hands for a moment, but eventually takes the glasses and slowly turns to look at her, green eyes shining in stark contrast to the red rimming them. The moment his eyes meet hers, his shoulders droop a little bit, like he’s relieved to see that she’s alright and here. He opens his mouth, trying to say something, but doesn’t seem to trust his voice because he instead reaches a shaking hand out uncertainly.

Joan takes it. He seems to be calming himself down well enough, now that he’s more aware of his surroundings. His breathing is calming down, at any rate.

“Can I get you anything? A glass of water, maybe?” She doesn’t want to leave him alone but a few minutes for some water probably won’t hurt. Those concerns go away when Owen shakes his head anyway.

“No, no, that’s alright, just… please stay.”

Joan nods and does exactly that. She sits there, holding his hand sandwiched between her own, and doesn’t say anything. Neither of them do. She slowly rubs her thumb along his knuckles.

When his breathing is at a normal rate, he takes a full, deep breath, and lets it all out in a rush of words. “It was Andrea. And Helen’s announcement. Aaaand then it was you.” His voice breaks at the end. Joan thinks her heart might a bit too. He picks up the blanket and hikes it up around his shoulders. “Sorry for waking you up.” A pause. “Thank you for being here.”

Joan sighs. “You know, I feel like this was probably inevitable. I’d be willing to bet I’d have been the one having a nightmare if you hadn’t. And if I hadn’t been here, we’d both have just ended up dealing with this alone.”

He hums to himself. “You’re probably right.”

“I like to think I often am.”

They fall into a comfortable silence. Owen seems to be staring off into the distance— not at his wall so much as through it. He finally speaks again after a few minutes.

“I was so worried about you when she made that announcement. I mean, I saw… I saw what she did to Andrea. I was there, and I couldn’t do anything, she wouldn’t even let me open my mouth to— to scream. And when she made that announcement, over the loudspeaker? It was all just playing out in my head over and over again. What she would do to you. What she  _ could _ do to you.” He shudders. “It was so vivid and I know you can’t get rid of a thought by trying not to think about it but I couldn’t stop just  _ imagining _ .”

His voice is choking up again by the end, and Joan wraps an arm around his shoulders, drawing him in for a loose side-hug. Sitting on the bed as they are, it’s the best she can do; what she wants right now is to hold on tightly to him and not let go.

It’s a weird, weird feeling.

But Owen is vulnerable right now. Joan is too. The reservations she may still have about him all wither away at the sight of someone who is in distress. She’s always tried to take care of the people around her and this isn’t any different. He nestles his face into the crook of her neck, leaning against her like he can barely hold himself up, and she rests her chin on his head and lets him. She lets him cry into her shoulder and rubs circles into his back, because that’s who she is. That’s what she does.

“I was worried about you, too, you know,” she says over the top of his head. “Helen, she… when she locked me in that room, she told me she was going to go after you first. She said that she wouldn’t hurt you if you were helpful. Not if you complied, but if you were helpful. When she made that announcement, I had assumed she must have done something to you. She clearly hadn’t gotten the help she needed from you, and as much as I was scared for myself? I was afraid for you too.”

Owen huffs out a small laugh. “We’re both messes, huh?”

Joan matches with a laugh of her own. “Indeed we are.”


End file.
